Double Memory
by justmomentary
Summary: I almost wish you had lied to me. I loved you that much.
1. Believing

**Title: **Double Memory ** Fandom: **Alias **Pairing: **Sydney/Vaughn **Timeline: **Post _Before the Flood_. **Summary: **Sydney deals with Vaughn's betrayal.

**Chapter 1:** _Believing_

She doesn't know exactly how it happened. One minute they're driving along, smiles on their faces, finally saying the words they had waited far too long to say to each other. And then he's saying things that she can't comprehend. His name isn't his name and he might be bad and she just doesn't understand. And then there's a crash with no warning. She doesn't remember what happened after that. And if she hadn't woken up in the hospital, she would've sworn it was all a dream.

But it wasn't a dream. She had an IV in her arm and a pain throbbing against her skull.

Someone's at the door. She looks up. 

"Miss," the nurse consults her clipboard. "Bristow. Glad to see you're up. How are you feeling today?"

"How long," she coughs, her voice is raspy and her throat is dry. "How long have I been here?"

"About two days. You were awake earlier but I guess you don't remember that. We gave you some medicine that made you a little groggy, just to ease the pain. We ran some tests. You don't have a concussion or any internal bleeding. Just a few scrapes and bruises. You'll be sore for a while but you should be fine. You're very lucky. Your father is here. Would you like to see him now?"

"Yes, thank you," Sydney said, sitting up.

"Sweetheart," Jack said as he pulled up a chair beside her bed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm fine." She hesitates for a moment, unsure she should ask this question. "What about," she pauses, unsure of what to call him. "Vaughn?" She settles for the name she's always known because it's all she knows.

"He's in the ICU."

"Oh, God," she says, covering her mouth with her hand. "Is he okay?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't been to see him yet. Marshall has though."

"Marshall?" Syd questions.

"Weiss is looking after Nadia. I was looking after you. Marshall didn't want Vaughn to wake up...alone."

"Oh," she says. If her feelings hadn't been so conflicted, she might have laughed at the thought of Vaughn waking up to find Marshall by his bedside.

"I'm sure Marshall can tell you how he's doing. He's right outside. Would you like me to -"

"Yes."

He leans over and kisses her forehead. "I'm sure he's fine. Try to get some rest."

Marshall stumbles in. "Syd...hey. How are you?"

"I'm good, Marshall. Thanks." This time she doesn't pause at his name. "How's Vaughn? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's okay. But, of course, I'm going on the assumption that our definitions of okay are the same and they might not be. I mean, I could think that something is perfectly okay and you could think that it's not okay at all so when you ask me if he's okay, you're not really getting an answer because I don't know what your definition of okay is. Is there a Webster's dictionary anywhere? Maybe we could look it up and -"

"Marshall," she says. "Tell me."

"Are you sure? Because I could get a doctor in here to explain it better. I've read medical journals but there's not a M.D. at the end of my name, although it'd be kinda cool if there was..."

"No. Please, just...tell me."

"He has a concussion. It's not serious, but it's still a concussion. He has a few broken ribs and they're keeping him sedated because of the pain. He's pretty out of it. He called me Syd three times."

Of course, she was worried. She didn't want to be worried, she wanted to be angry. Angry at him for lying to her all this time, for making her believe that he was the only one she could ever truly trust. But instead, her worry for him consumed her, just like it always had.

Marshall stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself. "Well, I'll let you get some rest. I'll check on you later. Bye Syd," he says as he walks out the door.

"Bye."

Left alone to her thoughts, the realization of all that has happened sinks in. Maybe she was in shock. She didn't know. It didn't seem possible. How can Vaughn not be Vaughn? She'd dealt with a lot of things she had thought were fact, but turned out to be fabrications. And somehow, this was the one thing she couldn't grasp. You'd think she would be used to it by now, someone not really being who you thought they were.

The pain she felt, the betrayal, the anger, went beyond tears, beyond logic.

She believed that Vaughn was a good guy. She believed that he was Vaughn, her Vaughn. She believed that he would never betray his country. She believed that he loved her.

But believing something doesn't make it true.


	2. Awakening

**Chapter 2**: _Awakening_

It began as all great tragedies do, with death and of course, a girl. But in the end, or maybe even in the beginning, the girl was all that mattered. She had always been the only thing that mattered, even if he hadn't always known it.

He had been angry. He had wanted to know the truth. These two elements, anger and truth, led him to the answer, even though he hadn't asked the question yet.

He was in his early twenties when they approached him. After all these years, the pain of not knowing what really happened to his father was still eating him up inside. And before he knew what he was getting himself into, he said that he would do anything - anything - to find out the truth. This is how it began. His simple quest for the truth would lead him down a path that he never could have foreseen.

It started with a name. A name and an order. It seemed simple enough. He told himself that he wasn't really betraying his country. They hadn't asked for intel. They hadn't asked for anything. At least, not yet.

The name was Rambaldi.

The order was to protect the girl.

Many things had to come into play for this to happen, the right events at the right time. And of course, all of these events came into play, just as they said they would. He didn't question it; he didn't want to. He didn't care about manuscripts or prophecies. All he cared about was the truth.

In the beginning, it was just a job. A means to an end. Once this was done, he would find out what happened to his father.

But then, one night at the pier, everything changed. His job, his quest, they all went out the window. All because of the girl.

He found himself saying things that he knew he shouldn't say. He found himself breaking every rule they'd told him not to break.

He tried to fight it, he told himself that she didn't matter, that it was just a crush. But he couldn't lie to himself. When it came to her, he never could.

Of course, it wasn't really that simple. He hadn't just decided on a whim to give up everything he'd worked for. The more he learned about Rambaldi, the more he felt he should be protecting her from it, not for it.

_"Look, I was young. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I'm sorry but I can't do this anymore."_

"It's not that simple, Michael. You made a deal."

"Well, I'm breaking the deal. The thing that you can't seem to understand is that she's a person. She's not 'The Chosen One.' Her name is Sydney. And she wants nothing to do with any of this Rambaldi crap."

"And you know what she wants?"

"She's not some artifact. I'm not gonna hand her over to you so you can do experiments on her or whatever the hell you plan to do."

"That's ridiculous. We're not going to do experiments on The Chosen One. Her body is a vessel to bring forth Rambaldi's works..."

"Right. Fine, you're gonna impregnate her with Rambaldi's sperm. Are you even listening to yourself? You and your fanboys are never going to touch her. Do you understand me?"

"We'll be calling on you. And when we do, you better answer the call."

"Oh, is that a threat?"

"All I'm saying is, your job isn't finished yet. And if you don't finish it, there will be consequences."

"Yeah, well I say bring 'em on." 

Maybe he shouldn't have said that.

His eyes flashed open.

Where was he? What happened?

And then, it came back.

Santa Barbara. Sydney. And I love you and the truth and oh God...

He tries to say her name, to make his lips form the words, but no sound comes out.

"Shh. It's okay. Don't try to talk. Here," she hands him a cup. He takes it and lets the ice chips dissolve on his tongue.

"S-Syd," he manages.

"I'm here."

"Oh, I...Sydney, I'm so sorry. I lost you. I didn't believe them but then, I lost you and I couldn't find you. I looked everywhere. You have to believe me. They told me that you were...but I didn't believe it. And it's all my fault. It was all my fault." His words come out in a rush, barely above a whisper.

A hand grazes his cheek, he feels her hand on his. "No, it's okay. It's okay," she smiles. "Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter."

She's silent for a moment as tears sting her eyes. She wipes at them hastily. She bites her lip. "God, Vaughn. It came out of nowhere and it happened so fast. I thought I'd lost you. And I realized, it doesn't matter. I don't care if your name isn't really Michael Vaughn. Because, you'll always be Vaughn to me, _always_. And what you did before we met, even if it is the reason we met, doesn't matter now. It's in the past. What matters is here and now."

He smiles, reaching up to brush a stray tear away. She takes his hand in both of hers and presses it against her lips.

"You do realize though, that I'm gonna have to kick your ass for lying to me," she says, smiling.

He laughs and then, everything around him gets darker, everything starts fading to black.

He tries desperately to find her hand. "Sydney," he calls out. "Sydney, what's happening?" He feels so lost and confused. His eyes dart around the room but he can't find her.

"I thought it was obvious," she says from a place that he can't see. Her voice is all around him, but it's not warm like it was minutes before. It's cold and harsh. He can almost feel the chill of it. "You're waking up."

"What?" Suddenly, light floods the room. It's so bright that it hurts his eyes.

"Sydney, what are you doing?" Weiss asks from behind her.

She spins around. She runs her fingers over the blade of the knife that she's now holding.

"I'm going to kill Vaughn."

He stands there for a moment. He shrugs. "Right. Wasn't here, didn't see it, couldn't have stopped you."

"Thanks," she says as he leaves.

She turns back to Vaughn. "Actually, you know what? This won't do. This won't do at all. I've already stabbed you. I can't do the same thing again." She runs her fingers through his hair. "No, this won't do at all," she mumbles. The knife falls to the ground. "Hmm. I guess I could shoot you. I've never done that."

"What? Why are you doing this, Syd?"

"Wow. You really _are_ stupid! Why? Because you betrayed me. I told you never to betray me. Guess you didn't listen. Too bad. You were a cute one."

"No. This isn't you. Who are you? You aren't Sydney!"

She frowns at him. "Well, you're not Vaughn. Who says I have to be Sydney? It's not fair that you get to have all the fun."

She smiles wickedly. "It's my turn now." She lifts a 9 mm to his head and pulls the trigger.

There's Sydney. And there's pain. And then, darkness. There is nothing else.


	3. The Unforunate Side Effect of Betrayal

**Chapter 3**: _The Unfortunate Side Effect of Betrayal_

She lies awake, wishing something would distract her from her thoughts. She had always had a vivid imagination. In the field, it had helped her improvise but alone in the hospital room, it only tormented her. She couldn't help but wonder if anything had ever been true. There were too many questions, too many things that could have been a lie. That fateful day when she walked into the CIA, did he really have an instinct about her? Or did he say that because he had been ordered to? Was that really his father's watch that stopped that day? Did he really say those things that Vaughn had told her? Or had it all been part of some plan, just a glorified pick-up line?

Did he really believe in her? Or did he help rescue her from the FBI to make it look like he was going against protocal, when he was really following it?

Was he really her ally? Or was he just saying that to throw her off, making it seem like he was the only one she could trust, when in reality, he was the one person that she shouldn't have trusted?

Was he instructed on how to act with her, or did he come up with that all on his own?

Did she really say 'Don't frost the pie'? Or was it some cute little anticdote to make it seem like they were friends, like their relationship wasn't just professional.

The dinner, the story about his code name, was any of it true?

Did he really mean what he said about not being able to sleep when she was away on missions? Did he really want to kiss her?

Or did they tell him to get closer to her? Was their relationship an order?

Did he love her so much that it almost killed him?

Did he love her at all?

Was everything just a facade? Was any of it real?

She hated the doubt she felt, the uncertainty of everything.

"Syd," she heard a faint voice call out to her.

She stirred. She had just begun to fall into a light sleep.

"Sydney." 

The voice was louder now. She sat up. "What?"

She was suprised to find Weiss sitting beside her.

"Hey," she said sleepily.

"Sorry I woke you."

"It's okay. I thought visiting hours were over."

"Well, being CIA does have its perks, you know."

"Really? I thought that was just a rumor."

They both smile. "So, what's up?" she asks.

"What, I can't just come by and see how my friend Sydney is doing?"

"You and I both know that you have a purpose here, if you didn't, you'd be at my house looking after my sister."

"Right," he says, slightly ashamed that he is that transparent. "Vaugn's awake."

She looks away, unsure of how to take the news. Relief washes over her body and she wishes that it hadn't. And then the dread of seeing him again sets in.

Weiss notices this transition. "Syd, what's going on? What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing."

"Look, I know you're like, a super spy and all, but when it comes to Vaughn, you're terribly transparent."

She sighs, knowing that she can't lie to him.

"When we were in Santa Barbara, just before the accident...he started to tell me some things. He got really serious all of the sudden so I kind of asked jokingly if he was a bad guy. He said it depended on who I asked. And then, he said that his name wasn't Michael Vaughn."

Weiss slumps back in his chair. "Oh, wow. Whoa. I mean...what?"

"Exactly." And this is when it starts, the tears that had previously refused to fall are now falling in full force.

Weiss is by her side, his arm around her shoulder. "Hey, hey," he says, rubbing her back.

She frantically wipes at her tears. "I just..I guess I was in denial...or something. I hadn't actually said it until just now. I don't think I ever really admitted it to myself and now," she says, taking in a shuddering breath. "It just seems all too real."

"I know," he says, because there's really nothing else that can be said.

"He also said that when I walked into his office that day, that it wasn't an accident. I guess, it was planned or something. Eric, you didn't know anything about that, did you?"

His first reaction is to take offense. But he knows that he shouldn't, because she has just been betrayed by the one person she thought would never betray her, who is to say that she should willingly trust the rest of them?

"No, Syd. Of course not."

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay. Good."

"I just...don't get it. I went to the Farm with him. How could I not have known? So, I mean, what's the deal? Is he a double?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? He just was like 'Oh, I'm not Mikey' and then what, silence?"

"No," she said, irritated. "And then a car rammed into the side of us."

"Oh. Sorry." He hangs his head, unsure of how to proceed. The shock of what she has just told him is still too fresh and he can't seem to pick one thought out of the many that are filling his head. He shakes his head. "There has to be a logic explanation, there has to be."

"But what if there isn't?" she asks. Clearly, she's thought about this. She wouldn't have said that so quickly if she hadn't been mulling it over.

He says nothing more. He leans down slowly, kisses her cheek, and leaves.

She's discharged later that day. Her father comes in, but says nothing. He just helps her into a wheelchair. She wonders if he knows yet.

He wheels her to Vaughn's room. She makes him stop at the door. She stands up and hesitates. She draws in a sharp breath and opens the door. She knows that if she doesn't go in now, she won't go in at all.

She sees him lying there, eyes closed and she's instantly reminded of all the times she's seen him in this condition. And it hurts, seeing him like this. It hurts so much worse than she thought it would.

She purposefully makes her to his bedside. She lightly brushes her hand against his. "Hey," she says, gently.

His eyes flutter open. They are filled with panic. They dart wildly, studying her face. "You shot me," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Did not!" She blurts out. It was her first reaction. "You must have been hallucinating."

He laughs. She looks at him, bewildered. "It's just like that time when you stabbed me."

"No," she says, confused. "I really _did_ stab you." She realizes how strange this conversation might sound to anyone else. 

"I know but there was this other time..."

She lets him trail off, not wanting to get any more confused. She was confused enough already.

"So, how are you?"

"I'm okay. They say I should be able to check out in a few days."

"That's good."

She stands up and folds her arms, looking down at her feet. An awkward silence drifts between them.

"I'm sorry if you feel betrayed."

The comment is abrupt and it feels out of place in the silence.

"Yes, well, that is the unfortunate side affect of betrayal."

And with that, she leaves.


	4. Time

**Chapter 4**: _Time_

Human beings were designed for many things, but loneliness is not one of them. You're clinging to pillows and wrapping the sheets tightly around you, like if you did these things you wouldn't notice that there was no else there, just a tangled mess.

Because that's what you are, isn't it? A tangled mess. You can't distinguish where one thought ends and another begins. You have no perception of time. You don't know how fast, or painstakingly slow, it's moving. All you know is that time is passing. You're not sure how much or how little, you only know that it is passing. And maybe, in this respect, it is as if time is standing still. But you don't want to think about that, because it reminds you of him. Or who he was pretending to be.

See, time stopped once before. Of course, you didn't know it at the time but it happened nontheless.

Or did it?

_"This watch belong to my father..."_

Did it?

_"...and when he gave it to me, he said..."_

Did your father say things like that? Did he even have a watch?

_"...you could set your heart by this watch."_

Did you set your heart by that watch? Was your heart beat in sync with the its ticks?

_"It stopped October 1st - the day we met."_

Did your heart stop? Did it even skip a beat? Was it ever beating at all? Do you even have a heart?

You begin to suspect that he doesn't because if he did have a heart, he woudn't have lied to you for this long. Or, at least, that's what you're telling yourself.

A part of you wishes that you were still in the hospital, at least then they could fix the problem. The problem would be tangible, curable and they could make it better. But now, left to your own devices, there's nothing that can make this better. They say that time heals all wounds, but you're not even sure if time will help this time.

Especially if it keeps stopping.

There's a knock at your bedroom door. You look up and it's the one person that you never wanted to see again, but somehow wanted to see more than anything.

You hate this, these conflicting feelings. You wish things were simple.

You want him to leave.

But you can't bear for him to go.

But that's not how it goes. You want him to leave but you can't bear for him to go. You can't bear for him to go but you want him to leave.

You don't want him to lie to you.

But you don't want him to tell you the awful truth either.

It seems like everything is a contradiction these days.

"Hey," you find yourself saying, although you're fairly certain that you haven't opened your mouth yet. Of course, certainty really doesn't mean anything anymore. There were things you were certain about before, and you shouldn't have been. Because nothing is certain. You wonder if you'll ever fully grasp that concept. What irony, the only thing that is certain is that nothing is certain. Although now that you think that, it will probably become uncertain, just to smite you.

"That was my line."

He tries to smile. You don't.

"What do you want?"

Again, you're unsure if you're actually speaking. But you must be, because he can hear you.

"I want..." he trails off.

Is the question really that difficult? You thought that it was fairly simple. Of course, you could come up with questions that were far more difficult.

_Why are you doing this?_

Why did you say those things?

Why wasn't it an accident that I walked into your office that day?

Why me?

Why you?

Why did you have to happen to me?

Why?  
  
Mostly, you just want to know the last one.

"To talk," he finally finishes.

You sit, pondering this. "Fine. Talk."

He begins to open his mouth.

"No, wait. I changed my mind. I'll talk, you'll listen."

And suddenly, you know that your mouth is open and your lips are moving but you don't want them to. You want them to close and not form these words that you are saying.

"I've had time - I'm not exactly sure how much time, my grasp of time is a little fuzzy these days - but time nontheless, to think about things. And I'm at a loss because I don't know what to think. And I'm pretty sure that if I could, I would hate you. And I don't know what's worse: wanting to hate you or not being able to. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with ability, because I _want_ to hate you. I want to hate you so badly. But I can't. I just can't, and I don't know why. But I've come to the conclusion that I must not have the ability to hate you. I wish I did though. Because I would hate you, I would hate you so much. But I can't. And I guess I'll just have to live with that."

You're words are mumbled and you're pretty sure you've repeated yourself. But then again, you're not even meaning to say these words.

You continue, still not wanting to say these words but not being able to do otherwise.

"I always thought I was pretty good at the whole undercover thing. I thought that I kind of became the person I was pretending to be. But now I see that I was an amateur compared to you. I mean, I needed wigs and outfits. All you needed was yourself."

You pause, then continue.

"So, was Michael Vaughn just another alias? Do you think that since you've been pretending so long, that you've actually really _become_ him? Or were you ever him to begin with? Were you able to keep up the facade without ever letting yourself believe that he was a person? I don't know, maybe he never existed. Maybe he was just a collection of picture frames and personality traits, green eyes and old watches who made speeches about his father being a star on a wall and how some things never change."

"I swear to you, Sydney. I'm _me_. I'm the same person you've always known. I love you. You have to believe that."

"It's interesting, the things you'll allow yourself to believe. I let myself believe that Michael Vaughn would never betray his country. I was so naive. I actually said that you would never do that. I was so sure about it, too. I was so stupid. I couldn't even see what was right in front of my face. And when they asked me to spy on you, I said that I could never betray someone that I loved. Obviously, you could."

After you say this, you realize that you're making the mistake of still letting yourself believe that he loves you. Maybe he does. Maybe he always did. Maybe he never did.

"I didn't betray you. I would never -" he lets out a heavy sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose and you can see the forehead wrinkles begin to form. "I didn't have time to explain. But I want to. I want to tell you everything."

You cross your arms. "Why now?"

"What?"

"Why tell me all this now? Why not...before?" Before what, you're not exactly sure. Before this, maybe. Before this moment. But of course, if he had told you before now, this moment never would have occurred, or maybe it would have, just differently.

See what I told you about the tangled mess?

"It wasn't the right time, then."

"And now, is it?"

"I don't know."

"It's always about itme, isn't it? There's either too much time or not enough or it's not the right time. I guess timing really is everything."

"I just-"

"You know what? Your timing _sucks_. We were finally starting to have a quasi-normal existence. You know, finally getting back on track. I was happy and I was...I mean, I thought I was...in love." The last two words come out barely above a whisper. "And now, I can't believe a word you say. How can I, when everything between us was a lie?"

"It wasn't a lie."

But he doesn't know how to convince her of this. He doesn't know how to assure her that the betrayal, even though he wouldn't call it that, doesn't go as deep as she thinks it does. He wants to tell her that his watch really did stop that day and that he really did mean those things he said to her at the pier. And that he really does believe in her. And that she really does talk in her sleep.

And some things don't change, like the way he feels about her.

But what difference would it make if he told her all these things, what makes him think that she would believe him?

So he just softly repeats these words, like maybe if he says them enough with enough conviction, if he means them enough, then she will know that it's the truth.

"It wasn't a lie. It wasn't a lie."

Her eyes soften and she shakes her head. "I wish I could believe that."

But he knows that she can't. At least, not now. He would ask her to just have faith in him, but he doesn't know if she can do that either. Maybe all her faith is used up because she's had to take an awful lot on faith in her life.

Maybe she can't do that anymore.

Maybe she just doesn't want to.

And in this instance, what it comes down to really is faith.

She's standing up now, holding the door open for him. He turns to face her.

"You want to know the worst part of this whole thing?" He can see the tears shine in her eyes, brimming her eyelids. He knows that when she blinks, they'll fall. And he wants to catch them, but he knows that she won't let him.

He stays silent.

"I almost wish that you had lied to me. I loved you _that_ much."

He says nothing, sadly noting the past tense.

He slowly makes his way to the door.

The tears are running down her face and she doesn't bother to brush them away.

As he steps through the door frame, she says,"I said you were my guardian angel once. It was a spur of the moment comment. It really didn't mean anything at the time. But over the years, that's exactly what you've been. But you know what? Angels fall."

And with that, she slams the door.


	5. Truth

**Chapter 5: **_Truth_

You wish you could say that you had some deep realization or that you had some sort of epiphany. But you didn't. You didn't suddenly realize that you can't live without him. You _have _lived without him. And you can do it again, although you wouldn't recommend it. You didn't suddenly come to the conclusion that he will always be the person you always thought he was, no matter what his name is. You don't think that. You wish you did. But you don't. The truth is, you were curious. Really. That's it. You were just too curious to stay away.

And that's the reason you're standing in front of his door right now, freaking out, wondering what form of insanity this is. You ring the doorbell with a shaking finger. You wait a few seconds and when he doesn't answer, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holing. You turn to leave, but his voice stops you.

"Sydney?" You turn around and see the confusion on his face, in the way he's standing at his door, clinging to it, as if it were a damn lifeline. He didn't expect this. And apparently, neither did you.

"Oh," you say. "I-I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing here, what I thought I was doing here..." You turn to leave _again_ and his voice stops you, _again_. By now, you feel like you're just turning in circles.

"You came because you want to know the truth."

If he hadn't been right, you would have laughed. If he hadn't been looking at you the way he was, you would have cried.

You still think that you might do both, at the same time. And then you'll know what form of insanity this is. It's the broken heart kind, where you have to laugh to keep from crying and you have to cry to keep from laughing and you end up doing both because there's no way that you can stop it from happening.

"Maybe I did," you finally say.

He opens the door wider, an obvious indication that you should come in. But you're glued to the spot.

"No," you say. "I don't want to go inside and exchange pleasantries and have you stall by asking me if I want coffee. I want you to tell me right here, right now."

He doesn't object, maybe he thinks he doesn't have the right to.

"Okay," he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He begins.

"After my dad died, I couldn't accept the fact that I didn't know how he died."

This sounds like the beginning of a speech to you. But that's okay, you think, he's good at those.

He goes on to explain how he thought that he would do anything to find out what happened to his dad. This included joining the Order of Rambaldi (although he was young and didn't really know what, or who, Rambaldi was) and agreeing to protect a girl.

"The girl," he says, with a faint smile, "was you."

"I was ordered to protect you. And at first, I resisted. I mean, you walked into my office with bozo red hair and a bloody mouth, for God's sake."

You almost smile at this. And even though the smile does not reach your lips, it somehow reaches your eyes. And he sees it, you know he does.

"You were stubborn and you were always arguing with me about missions and I...I thought you hated me," he admits.

"But then, that night, at the pier...I knew that you didn't, you didn't hate me. That's when I decided that it didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered. I decided that I would protect you, yes. But not because someone told me to, because I wanted to, I _needed _to."

You're staring at him in awe, and maybe, still, anger.

You allow yourself to speak, carefully hiding the remaining bits and pieces of hurt and anger that are residing in your heart, your throat, your eyes.

"Why then? At the pier?"

"Because," he says, "because that's the night I...I loved you."

This takes you by suprise, you never thought that he had had those feelings for you so soon. And you wonder why you never considered this. It was, after all, the same night you fell in love with him, you realize. You had hidden those feelings, thinking that they were just fleeting thoughts of how handsome he looked that day or how much you needed to hear the words he had said to you. But it was more than that. It's always been more than that.

You smile at him now, the first sign of forgiveness.

He continues and you instantly snap back into reality, to a doorstep, not a pier.

"They hadn't contacted me in a while. It was more than a year, maybe two. I thought that maybe I was doing a good job. That maybe I was doing what I was suppose to. I didn't even care about the information they had on my father. I knew the truth by then, anyway. But then, a couple of weeks before we were suppose to go to Santa Barbara, they contacted me."

He takes a deep breath and you can tell that the worst is yet to come.

"They told me that they needed you, that I should hand you over. I didn't know what they would do to you, but I had a pretty good idea. I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't let them treat you like some...science experiment. They threatened me, but at that point, I didn't care. All I cared about was you. I thought they were empty threats, but I had to play it safe. So...I came up with the Santa Barbara idea. I knew that if they were going to try to do something, it would be sooner rather than later."

"So, Santa Barbara was just..." You can't even finish your sentence.

"No. No, no. Oh, Syd, no. I _wanted _to go to Santa Barbara with you. More than anything. But I also wanted to keep you safe."

He looks down at his shoes, your shoes, the pavement, you don't know.

When he finally looks up, you can see the tears glisten in his eyes.

"But I was too late."

You begin to shake your head, to ask him what he's talking about, but then it hits you.

"Oh, my God," you say, the tears beginning to sting your eyes as well.

"I lost you, Syd. I lost you and it was all my fault."

You find yourself moving into his arms, wanting to comfort him somehow, reassure him that it wasn't his fault, that it would have happened anyway.

But you don't know that.

"It wasn't...it wasn't your fault. You tried to save me." Your voice dissolves into a whisper. "You always try to save me."

"When we got this second chance, so to speak, I knew that I had to tell you the truth. I tried to tell myself that I wasn't lying to you, that it was in the past, that it didn't matter. But it did. And I just, I couldn't stand lying to you anymore."

You smile against the fabric of his shirt, wet from your tears.

You look down and lace his fingers with yours.

"So, what _is _your name?"

He tells you and you laugh, saying, "I think I like Vaughn better."

"Yeah," he says, kissing the top of your head, "I think I do too."

In the beginning of this whole catastrophe, it felt like you had a double memory. You could remember the way things were, the way you saw everything at the time. But then, you would go back into these memories and look for clues that you had been decieved, that you had been betrayed. And sometimes, you would get these two memories confused and think that things were there that really weren't. But now, everything is clear and you know that everything you thought at first, before all of this, was true. He was true.

**End**


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